Needed
by actuallyitsstarbar
Summary: And Marty didn't know why he'd hoped it would be different this year; nor did he know why it was Doc's house he'd run to. Maybe he didn't really need to know- maybe he couldn't, he thought absently. Maybe his unconscious, or whatever it was that directed him to Doc, knew best what he needed. / Doc & Marty Friendship fic; oneshot. My first foray into BTTF fic.


**A/N: Been a while since I've written anything that can be uploaded here! Trying out writing for a new fandom this time- BTTF is one of my favorite move franchises and I don't have a lot of luck finding good friendship fics regarding Doc & Marty, so although the style of this fic is rather unlike what I'm used to writing, I decided to step outside my comfort zone and give it a try! I promise I'm working on my two multichapters as I have time- I'm just about to post another chapter of Mother Dearest's Darlin' Boy and I'm almost through the next chapter or two of Not That Crazy. Excuses aside, hope y'all enjoy my first foray into BTTF land! :p**

 **This takes place before any of the movies (and subsequently, before the game or the cartoon) and is an entity separate from the book. Does take canon from the the game for backstory, with a bit of filling in from me.**

 **Only minor spoilers for the game.**

 **Friendship fic; you won't find any Doc & Marty slash from me. Not saying anything about those who're into that but I just can't ship a 17 year old boy and a 70 year old man, you feel me?**

 **Reviews are never required but always greatly appreciated. :)**

\- B - T - T - F -

Marty didn't see the puddle until it was far too late to do anything about it, and the next thing he knew he was smashing into the sidewalk, water going this way and his skateboard going that.

He pushed his palms against the concrete, observing the puddle he lie in. Not even an inch deep, but with enough dirt in the water that it caught his board off balance and sent him tumbling into it.

Berating himself for being so caught up in his own thoughts, he stood up, righted his board, and set off once again.

He tried to pay more attention to where he was going this time but… he wasn't sure where he was going. He'd no particular destination in mind. In fact, it was quite the opposite- the only place he had in mind was the place from which he had departed, and he wanted desperately to be able to get as far away from there as possible.

A sort of a reverse destination.

He knew no one would come after him. That was both the beauty and the curse- the beauty, because he was guaranteed time alone to think, but a curse because that guarantee was the very reason he now felt he _needed_ that time alone.

Marty pushed his wet hair out of his eyes for the millionth time on his ride, not even really realizing it. He hadn't even thought of the rain, not really. If he had, he might've thought not to skateboard in it. But here he was, looping through town around the time of day one might be having brunch, if brunch was a thing you were into. By all rights the morning sun should have been shining on him, but instead it was nearly as dark as the inside of a velvet pocketbook. The angry clouds in the sky seemed to mock him, seemed to do exactly the opposite of providing the comfort he was, perhaps unknowingly, in search of.

His foot pushed off the ground with a bit more force than necessary, and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment to get his emotions in check. He scrubbed a wet shirt sleeve across his eyes- like it mattered. Like anyone cared how he was feeling, like anyone was out in the rain to see him, like the rain wouldn't have covered it up if they had.

It was June 17th, 1984. It was Father's Day.

He had come downstairs early that morning to find his mom drunker than she'd been in a long time. His sister said she had a headache and shut herself away in her room, refusing to interact with anyone. His brother had snuck out to smoke weed with his dropout friends the night before and was still sort of phased out and hung over, simultaneously angry and ambivalent towards everyone. And his dad… his dad was bent over some papers from work, furiously toiling away, muttering about Biff was going to kill him if they weren't done on time.

And Marty didn't know why he'd hoped it would be different this year. He didn't know why he'd hoped that this would be the year everyone would be sober, and not hungover, and they'd….. They'd go on a nice family picnic. And he and Linda and Dave would give Dad some well thought out presents that he would appreciate and that Biff wouldn't steal or destroy or mock at a later date.

But that didn't happen, of course it didn't. It couldn't. Not with a family as screwed up as his. He was lucky he'd even managed to get born. Even if his family wasn't so screwed up, it was raining. So in all possible realities, that idea fell flat.

He wasn't ok with it, but he was resigned to it. He probably would have slogged through the lousy holiday alright, if it wasn't for Biff.

If only Biff hadn't come marching in like he owned the place- _hell, he practically does,_ Marty thought with a surge of bitterness- and started using the same lame old practical jokes on his dad. If only he hadn't started going on about how George McFly should've had more sense, he shouldn't be so gullible, why wasn't the paperwork done yet? He had to have time to type it up or else he'd get fired, and of course George wouldn't want that! Would he? Of course not!

Of course Biff saw him and asked in a mocking tone what he was doing for Father's Day. And, of course, Marty had no good answers, just shrugged and said, "nothing, I guess."

It wasn't until Biff laughed and sneered, "Sorry butthead. If your old man wasn't such a wimp, maybe today would mean somethin' to you," that he had really lost it. He'd pushed past Biff and ran to his room to get his red vest and his skateboard, hopped out his window, and went away, as far away as he could possibly get.

\- B - T - T - F -

He hadn't meant to come to Doc's. He hadn't meant to go anyplace. He'd really only meant to get away.

Yet here he was, standing on the outside of the gate, opposite a large chasm of mud separating him from Doc's door.

He picked up his board and slogged through, only just now beginning to realize how cold he was.

Marty tapped on the door of the garage-looking-house...thing, that he knew simply as Doc's place; the place where his best friend lived.

He didn't fully expect an answer. Not only was the pouring rain loud, but Marty had never been to Doc's on Father's Day, he didn't know what Doc would be doing or planning or anything. He didn't even know if the Doc would want him around.

He knocked loudly to be heard over the rain. There was enough of a pause then, that he thought Doc wasn't coming. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he turned his back to the door, standing on the mat, facing the rain soaked world around him.

The thunder of rain hitting the roof of the building he stood in front of drowned out the sound of the door behind him opening.

"Marty?" A familiar voice startled him, and he whirled around and dropped his skateboard- which he'd tucked under his arm- before realizing it was Doc. Who else would it be? This was Doc's house; _some genius you are McFly,_ he grumbled in his mind.

"Hey, Doc!" he said, or perhaps shouted, to be heard over the rain.

"What are you doing out in this storm?" Doc wanted to know, but before Marty could answer, he interrupted himself, saying "Great Scott, there you are standing in the rain freezing to death and here I am trying to start a conversation, what's the matter with me today?" He stepped back from the door and ushered his young friend inside.

"I'll get you a towel," Doc called over his shoulder as he hustled across the lab to the closet, near the bathroom.

Marty stood in front of the door, dripping enough water to fill a swimming pool, and surveying the lab. It seemed...messier than usual, if that was even possible. There was also a bottle of wine sitting on a table near the end of the old brown couch. The seal on the bottle had not been broken. He found this odd, as Doc didn't drink, but then again, the bottle was sealed. So apparently, he had only been thinking about it.

When the old scientist returned, he had some things draped over his arm. "Here we are, Marty, a towel and some dry clothes," he said as he passed the items to the teen. "What in heaven's name are you doing out skateboarding in weather like this?"

Marty draped the towel around his neck and dropped his skateboard near the wall. "Well-"

Doc again cut him off. "On second thought, you go ahead and get dry and changed and then we'll worry about that."

Marty shook his head at the scattered conversation, completely used to following Doc's brain in circles by now, and with a small smile, sloshed off to the bathroom to get changed.

He had to slam the bathroom door a couple times to get the latch to catch, but he was used to this. The idea that Doc would eventually fix it was all but a distant memory at this point.

It turned out the clothes were a bit large for him; some old pajamas of Doc's, no doubt. But as long as he could keep them on, he didn't mind. Leaving the towel draped over the shower door, he yanked the door open (there was no gentle way of freeing the sticky latch) and returned to the lab.

Marty was greeted by a giant puddle of water in front of the door, and a trail of drips into the bathroom behind him.

"Jeeze Doc, I didn't mean to make a mess all over your floor," he began, approaching him, and only tripping on the too-long pant legs of the pajamas a couple of times on the way.

"Don't worry about it Marty, this place was a mess already, largely in part to contributions from Einstein." The last addition with a furrowed glance at where Einstein sat on the couch, with a lazy dog grin on his face.

He watched as Doc carried the rags he'd been using to wipe up the puddles on the floor to a basket near the couch, where he sat down with a small tray on his lap. The tray had some small screws and parts and a screwdriver on it, some small project of his.

"Working in leisure now?" Marty prompted in a teasing tone. Doc glanced up at him quickly.

"Marty! Yes of course, have a seat and warm up, it's rather disagreeable weather out there today," he said, pushing Einstein over on the couch to make a space for Marty to sit.

This he did, eyeing the Doc curiously. "Everything ok, Doc?" he asked as he settled down next to him. Something felt different about him today, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

"Of course, of course; why wouldn't it be?" he said dismissively, setting his tray aside and turning to his young friend with a smile, but Marty didn't think it quite reached his eyes. "What on earth are you doing out in weather like this?"

Marty shrugged. "I just wanted some air."

Doc raised his eyebrows. "And apparently some water as well."

Marty averted his eyes. How could he explain his situation to him? Surely the man had enjoyed many cheerful Father's Days with his family. Come to think of it, Marty didn't know much of anything about Doc's family, but still….it would be hard to explain

"I thought you'd spending time with your father and the rest of your family, as per usual," Doc went on.

Marty snorted. "Usual? What's _usual_ about anything in my family?". He jammed his hands into the pockets of his borrowed pajama pants and leaned back on the couch.

"You aren't... missing out on any holiday expeditions by being here?"

"What do you think," scoffed Marty.

Doc glanced between his young friend's face and the floor, and back. He seemed to want to… well, talk, about something but at the same time, he seemed very agitated. It was times like these Doc wished he possessed a more soothing side.

"Marty," Doc garnered his attention. "What exactly is wrong?"

"Do you ever wonder if- if anybody would even miss you, if you were gone?" Marty asked slowly.

Doc could have approached this question many ways. He could have asked if Marty felt this way, or reassured him immediately that of course he would be greatly missed, but instead he decided on the straightforward route. "I would be lying if I said I had not."

"I left the table, got my skateboard, hopped out the window in a damn thunderstorm and I've been gone for at least three hours. Are they even worried about me? Hell, they probably don't even know I'm gone!"

Doc watched as an expression of turmoil built on the teen's face. "Y'know, I left cuz I just...had to get away from them for… for a while and I knew no one would care enough to come after me," he laughed, a sort of bitter sound. "But the fact that no one cares enough to come after me…. That's exactly why I needed to get away from them."

Marty stood up and started pacing in front of the couch, feeling a build up of anxious energy inside him that simply had to come out, for fear he would combust. " I just… I'm just... I'm fed up with it and I had to get outta there. I can't _stand_ being there with those losers and just sitting in my room, knowing that Linda's off hiding in hers instead of even giving Dad the time of day, I'm fed up sitting around every year knowing mom's drunker than a sailor, Dad's getting slapped around by Biff, Dave's hung over and probably smoking weed at the same time…. I just couldn't _be_ there anymore!"

His voice rose to a somewhat desperate edge near the end, and the string of words came out all at once, as if once they had started they couldn't be stopped. He collapsed back onto the couch, where Einstein whimpered and put his head on his lap. Marty closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

It was quiet for a moment, as Marty began to feel heat rising to his cheeks after his outburst. "Uh," he scratched at the back of his neck in a clear fit of nerves. "I, uh...sorry, Doc, I…"

But Doc said in a softer tone, "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I imagine that I would be equally frustrated in a…. similar situation," he added carefully.

Marty shrugged one shoulder.

"Perhaps you'd like to warm up with some hot chocolate?"

This abrupt change of subject caused Marty to raise his eyes to his friend. "Huh? Uh... sure. If it's not any trouble," he added.

"Of course it's not," Doc returned in that same, softer tone, standing to make his way to the kitchen. "You wait there and keep Einie company while I dig out the coco."

Marty absently stroked Einstein's fluffy coat, staring into nothing ahead of him, for the first time really thinking about the oddity of his life. Here he was, spending Father's Day morning in the home of the local "crackpot mad scientist" who happened also to be his best friend, instead of at home, because his entire family was in shambles and he felt powerfully alone.

Suddenly, a mug of hot chocolate appeared in front of his face, and he heard Doc saying his name in a tone that suggested he'd been saying it for a while.

"Oh- thanks," he said absently, taking the mug from Doc's hands and taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid inside.

Doc took a seat beside him with a full mug for himself, and for a while, the two sat in silence, each lost in their respective thoughts. The innumerable clocks in the building were ticking and ticking, creating their own echo by sheer volume, and Einstein curled up on the other end of the couch for a nap, and it seemed nothing moved for a long time.

"I… I understand some of what you mean." Doc finally broke the silence in a quiet, retrospective voice, in a tone Marty rarely heard him use. The boy shifted so he could more easily watch his face. "When I was your age, my father and I were not exactly what you might call 'on speaking terms'."

Marty stayed quiet, eyes wide. Doc never talked about his family or his past, and he didn't want to break the reverie.

"My father was a judge, he came here from Germany in the early 20th century. He was a hard man to please- he was from a different time, a different culture. We didn't quite see eye to eye on, well, most everything."

He paused to sip at his hot chocolate, forgetting that it was called such for a good reason and having to swallow the too-hot liquid in a hurry, muttering "Damn, that's hot." He resumed his story as he set the mug carefully on the stand beside him.

"He wanted me to become a practitioner of the law as well, nearly forced me to. He made me work as an assistant in the courthouse from 8 in the morning until 9 at night, leaving me very little time for my scientific experiments. And something so sappy as Father's Day! I'd overhear others talking about their plans or see fathers and sons spending time together on the day, while I ran errands for the court and my own father shouted at me every chance he got. He had no time for a holiday such as that."

Doc shifted uncomfortably, unused to saying so much about himself at one time. He wondered, abstractly, why he was even saying it at all. He supposed it was because he sensed the guarded loneliness behind Marty's teenage bravado, and he wanted to show his friend that he wasn't as alone as he thought. That he wasn't some 'typical adult' who talked at everyone under 25 about how they were being immature and their worries were petty. He knew that Marty knew that already, but… it felt important. It felt _needed._

"But he loved you, right?" Marty said quietly. "You knew that, didn't you? He'd have stood up for you if it came to that, wouldn't he?"

Ah, so that's what it was all about, Doc thought, not so much just today- but every day. A culmination of days; feelings of being forgotten, walked on, stepped over, and shoved out of the way at every turn. Yes, Doc thought, this was definitely a time when he found himself curious as to why Marty continued to hang around with him. He found his skills when it came to comfort and reaching out to scared teenagers were very limited, and those were the very skills called for now.

Still, he nodded slowly. "Well, I suppose so. That doesn't mean it was roses all the way, of course."

Marty watched him, waiting for an explanation.

"He didn't support any endeavors I made on my own." Doc studied the floor rather intently as he talked. "Hell, he barely supported the ones that were his idea at the start. And he most definitely wouldn't stand for any arguments on the subject. But one day- one day when I was about….well, about your age I suppose, Frankenstein- the movie- that came out, and it came to the Hill Valley theater and, well," Doc smiled for the first time since his story had begun, "I snuck out of the courthouse to go see it. Seeing that movie it, it… inspired me. I knew that was it. I knew I had to dedicate my life to science-"

"So your old man came around?" Marty asked hopefully.

Doc was pulled from his memories, startled a bit as he glanced quickly at Marty, before taking up his mug again for another- this time more careful- sip. "No," he said with a shrug, "I ran away."

"Oh," Marty said, glancing up at Doc and then down at his hot chocolate. "That's heavy. You were only 16?"

Doc simply nodded. "I gave a demonstration at the Hill Valley Science Expo in 1931, and while it wasn't exactly what you'd call a roaring success, it cemented my path in life. The only way I could follow that path was without my father, so I made an executive decision to run away. I later decided to move back here in the late 1940's after my father passed away and I inherited all this and….well, you know the rest," he finished carelessly. He sipped at the now significantly cooler liquid in his mug and kept his eyes on anything but Marty, uncharacteristically uncertain after finishing his story.

Marty leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "So you never made up?"

"No," Doc returned. "We never did."

"Jeeze, I'm sorry, that's heavy," he repeated. "I guess that sounds a lot worse than my loser family."

Doc ran a hand through his wild, white hair, saying, "I wouldn't really say either is better or worse. Both are equally unfavorable situations for one to grow up in. And of course, the entirety of your family aren't losers."

Marty shook his head. "I mean, Jesus, Doc, they're all-"

"But surely you don't consider me a loser, now do you?"

A slow smile spread across Marty's face as he raised his eyes to Doc's, blue eyes meeting brown. _Family._ That's what they were, wasn't it? Yeah, they were best friends first; of that he felt certain. But there was something different too. To be honest, he thought of Doc Brown as more of a father than he'd ever considered George McFly. But to hear it come from Doc- well, suffice to say, he felt a lot better now than he had when he'd first arrived.

Unsure of exactly what to say, he tipped his mug up, only to find it empty. Doc glanced his way and took note of this. "Well, I should take these to the kitchen and rinse them, I suppose," he said, standing to take them, bringing a slightly awkward end to what had started to become an affectionate conversation.

Marty felt pretty sure he and Doc had been feeling pretty similarly every year on Father's Day, each assuming the other was having a nice time and not wanting to be in the way- but now that he knew Doc'd just been puttering around the lab, feeling a little bit alone, well, he knew where he'd be hanging out next Father's Day.

He watched him stand with the two mugs. "Uh, Doc," he interrupted.

"Yes, Marty?"

"What's up with the wine?"

The old scientist's eyes darted to the bottle next to the couch. "...oh," he stammered, gathering it up with the mugs, "I… well, I guess, you weren't the only one feeling like he wasn't needed today." he said simply, taking it away to the kitchen with him.

"I never bothered to open it though," he rambled on as he put the mugs into the sink and the wine into the cabinet. "We both know why I don't drink. And besides," he glanced at his company, pausing. Marty was watching him from the sofa, petting Einstein, who was acting as though he'd not been loved for months.

"What?" he prompted Doc, as he scratched the dog behind the ears.

A small smile, a real one this time, settled onto his features as he watched his best friend and, well, his son, and his dog interact. He shrugged lightly. "It wasn't needed."

Marty just grinned and turned his attention to Einstein again.

"What did you do with your wet clothes?"

Marty thought about that one for a moment. "Uhh, I bet I left them in the bathroom," he said, with a bit of a sheepish expression, half expecting a lecture on not leaving wet things on the bathroom floor… but of course, this was Doc, whose bathroom door was 38% more likely to trap you inside every time you used it.

"If you would bring them to me, I'll set them drying so they'll be ready when you head home- which won't be until after the rain stops," he added pointedly.

Marty returned with his wet things, which Doc piled into the dryer, planning to have them ready for him to change into by the time the storm ended. Unfortunately, he realized only now that it'd been a long time since he'd washed clothes, and God only knew what had happened to the cord for the dryer. He'd have to go in search of it, he thought, turning away from the machine.

Marty stood not too far away, looking out the window at the inclement weather, absently running his hand through his already messy hair. And though he wasn't sure why, Doc felt a surge of… protectiveness for this teen. He knew, from a conglomeration of the many conversations the two had had over the years, that Marty considered him a father figure. He felt responsible for Marty, he felt that it was his duty to be there for him. He scowled a little bit to himself; 'duty' made it sound as if he resented it. That could not be farther from the truth- No, he loved this teen, the only boy brave enough to come sneaking into the lab of "crazy old doctor brown". Loved him like he was his own son. Sometimes, he caught himself wishing that he was just that.

But of course he couldn't say that out loud, it wasn't within his nature to say it, nor natural for Marty to hear it. He wondered for a moment if 'I'm proud of you, son' was a phrase anyone had ever even said to the boy before.

At a loss for what else to do with this strange swell of affection, he stepped forward suddenly, engulfing Marty in what was perhaps the most uncharacteristic hug he'd ever perpetuated.

To say the least, the teen was surprised. Doc figured he'd either hug him back or push him away; and after approximately four seconds he was about to give up, when he felt Marty's smaller arms come up around his back.

Doc pulled away a few seconds later, going off in search of his cord without a word, leaving Marty to stand there with a grin on his face in his big, floppy pajamas.

"Hey, Doc," he called after him, "What was that for?"

Doc glanced back at him with a smile of his own and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know," he answered lightly. "It just felt like it was needed."


End file.
